That is a picture of my mom and me in Spain. (I figured out how to upload pictures but not how to make captions.)
So the vacay began with some drama. We were supposed to take off from Dublin at I believe 7:30 p.m. or thereabouts. We didn't take off until closer to 9 because the air traffic controllers in France were on strike and our flight plan had to be re-routed so we didn't fly over France and you know, hit another plane and die in a fiery explosion. Ah, France.
And then there was the flight itself. Ho boy. I don't know how I avoided it, but when I studied abroad in London junior year, I managed to only take one Ryanair flight the entire time. I have absolutely no idea how I accomplished this. I traveled plenty, but for some reason, I flew to cities where Ryanair didn't go or other airlines were somehow magically cheaper. The only time I ever flew Ryanair was to Venice. The flight left at 4 a.m. on March 1. My birthday is February 28. I had turned 21. You do the math on how alert you think I was for that flight.
So what I managed to block out/never really knew was how HORRIBLE Ryanair is. First of all, THE SEATS DO NOT RECLINE. THEY DO NOT RECLINE. YOU MUST STAY IN THE UPRIGHT AND LOCKED POSITION FOR THE DURATION OF YOUR FLIGHT. However, this probably isn't that surprising, because I learned from my dear friend Dave Onuscheck that Ryanair is currently petitioning the EU for standing-room only seats. Yes. You read that correctly. STANDING. ROOM. ONLY. Hypothetically, they would take out the last ten rows of seats on each aircraft and proceed to strap each passenger against the wall or against makeshift poles and/or walls that would be implemented for this very purpose (I swear to God I am not making this up). They are also contemplating you $1.50 every time you use the restroom. NEVER FLY THIS AIRLINE. EVER.
And they NEVER stop talking to you. NEVER. They are ALWAYS hawking something for you to buy. Food. Booze. Lotto tickets. You can't sleep because they are always on the intercom trying to get you to buy something "from the trolley." The only enjoyment I got out of any of this was hearing them say "trolley" and imagining I was in Harry Potter. That is, before the hard plastic non-reclining seat started digging into my ass again and I was brought back to reality sharply.
Anyway. So we land in Mallorca, an hour-hour and a half after initially we were supposed to. We then wait an hour for our baggage. Why? Oh, because they don't want to hire flight attendants AND baggage handlers, so the flight attendants do double duty. So they can't start unloading the bags until everyone is off the plane and they've done whatever it is they have to do.
So by the time we leave the airport, it's 12:30. MUCH later than the check-in time we'd told our hotel. We knew our hotel was sort of a bed and breakfasty type place, but we figured it would all be fine. We had told them we were coming in late, after all.
It was not fine. It was not fine at all.
Our cab driver took us to the Hotel San Lorenzo. Note: DO NOT stay here if you are ever in Mallorca. DO NOT. From the moment we turned onto the street, something wasn't right. No buildings were lit up, everything seemed shuttered and closed, no one was out walking... something just totally wasn't right. We stopped outside the hotel and it was boarded up. Tight. Our cab driver just dropped us off and drove away, despite what I'm sure were two very pathetic, despairing faces. We rang the bell countless times. We pounded on the door. We called in through the mail drop. We tried the back door, waking up the hotel's neighbor in the process. After an hour of trying to get in, we gave up and started just wandering around Palma, looking for another hotel. Due to my brand-new Irish smartphone, we were able to google and find a place called the Hotel Saratoga. (If you know me, you know how jacked I was about finally getting a smartphone.) Note: STAY HERE if you are ever in Mallorca. They took us in and were really nice to us. This is after our desperate, panicked scramble around Palma de Mallorca looking for a place to house us.
The next morning, my mom and I went on a bus tour of Palma de Mallorca (the capital of Mallorca). This is a nerdy thing she does every time she goes to a new city. I used to haaaaaate these when I was a kid, but this probably means I'm becoming an adult - I'm starting to enjoy them as well. Palma's a lovely beachside city. Not too touristy because there really isn't a lot to see. It's mostly about being on the beach and drinking sangria and eating tapas. The one thing you have to do is see the cathedral. I put up pictures on facebook. I'd put up some more here but I can't quite seem to figure it out... Regardless, it's an old cathedral with a Gaudi revamp.
The only really other item of note is my being assaulted by a 450-pound man. One of the days we were there, my mom and I went to this little hilltop village called Soller. We took this restored early-twentieth century train up, walked around and had lunch, etc. To get back down, we decided to take the bus because it was air-conditioned and took half as long. We got to the bus station realllyyyy early because we wanted to make sure we had a seat. We were the first in line. By about twenty minutes before the bus left, the line had swelled to over 50 people. My mom and I were being MAD vigilant about not letting anyone in front of us. It's a long story, but one time we were in France waiting for a bus, and she got on and I didn't, mostly because I wasn't aggressive enough in shoving my way through a crowd of people. We had learned our lesson, and we were NOT going to let it happen again.
We were doing really well at maintaining our position. One tiny elderly lady had somehow slipped in front of us without our noticing, but we let it go because she was old and frail and Spanish. the bus pulled into the station. We were so proud of ourselves, patting ourselves on the back for a job well done. Literally as the doors were opening, the largest human being I have EVER seen muscled his way to the front of the crowd (knocking over the frail old lady in the process) and cut EVERYONE and got on the bus! We were appalled, but what could we do? He was REAL fat. So he got on, the old Spanish lady got on, and my mom and I got on. And that was that. We got literally the last seats - my mom was at the very front of the bus and I was in about the third row from the back. Behind me was the giant behemoth of a human being.
So we get back to Palma, and my mom can get immediately off the bus because she's so close to the front. I edge out into the row, conscious that I need to get off too so my mom isn't waiting tooooo long for me. My motion is impeded by this monster, but I was clearly in the aisle ahead of him (not to mention I was waiting for the bus ahead of him in Soller). I say, politely as I can, "perdoneme," (excuse me) and he glares at me, and then with all his might, SHOVES me back into my seat. I fell against the wall and fell onto the floor, taking down the guy who had the window seat in my row in the process. It didn't hurt, but I hated that guy. I hated him.
I get off the bus, all flustered and indignant. I tell my mom what happens, and she gets all hot and bothered too. On our way out of the bus station, we saw him at a vending machine (of course). He was not paying for his food, oh no. Instead, he had his hand up through the place where the food is supposed to come out, attempting to steal food from the vending machine. I'm willing to bet it didn't work because his hands are so big and large. He's the worst person in the world. I want to see him on Keith Olbermann in the very near future.
I'm acutely aware of how long this is, and I'm 98% sure the vast majority of people didn't read to the end. For those of you who did, I both a) thank you and b) am sorry that you had to listen to me ramble for so long.
Love and miss you all!
Molly
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